


The Ghosts Of Christmas Past

by telperion_15



Category: Primeval
Genre: A Christmas Carol - homage, Angst, Challenge Response, Christmas, Dreams, F/M, Flashback, Future Fic, M/M, Post-Canon, Pre-Canon, Sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-11
Updated: 2012-02-11
Packaged: 2017-10-30 23:03:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/337164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/telperion_15/pseuds/telperion_15
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Waiting alone on Christmas Eve, Nick dreams of Christmases past.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Ghosts Of Christmas Past

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for the cutters_lab Christmas fic challenge.
> 
> Spoilers for episodes 1.03, 2.07 and 3.10.

  
Nick shifted a little on the sofa to make himself more comfortable, and looked down at the tumbler of whisky cradled in his hands before raising it to his mouth to take a sip.  
  
The drink was starting to exert a soporific effect, no doubt thanks to the two glasses that he’d consumed previously to this one. He knew this wasn’t the best way to go about staying awake while waiting up for your partner to arrive home, but it had been a pretty hellish day, and he felt like he deserved it.  
  
Christmas Eve was _not_ the best day for an anomaly to eject a group of nervous Protoceratops into a thickly wooded area, he reflected. Several of the team had nearly been injured, and to top it all off, both the handheld detectors they had with them had started malfunctioning, making it almost impossible to find the anomaly and get the creatures home. Only Becker stumbling across it by accident had eventually revealed the portal’s location.  
  
Nick shifted again, feeling the stiffness in his limbs as he did so. It hadn’t helped that none of them were as young as they had been, either. The anomaly project had been going for nearly a decade now, and chasing after prehistoric visitors was putting more stresses on his body than he cared to think about. Both Jenny and Lester had tried to get him to limit his time out in the field in recent months, saying that he should be concentrating on his anomaly research, but he couldn’t bring himself to miss out on the excitement and wonder (and danger) of seeing the creatures. Even if it did leave him tired and aching.  
  
He took another sip of whisky and glanced at the clock. 10:45 pm. Surely it wouldn’t be too much longer now? He understood why his lover had had to stay behind at the ARC – the fallout from the day’s problems at least needed investigating straight away, if not fixing, but he was beginning to wonder how long that investigation could possibly take. He wouldn’t be surprised to discover that other distractions had reared their ugly heads, and considered phoning the ARC to find out what was going on.  
  
No, he’d leave it a bit longer. Chivvying wouldn’t be appreciated, he knew. He’d just have to wait.  
  
The nearly empty whisky glass resting in his lap, Nick felt his eyelids start to droop shut. He tried to fight it for a few seconds, and then gave up. His partner arriving home would be sure to wake him, and it _had_ been a very tiring day. A quick nap wouldn’t hurt…  
  
* * * * *  
  
 _Twenty years ago…_  
  
The kettle was just boiling when Helen walked into the kitchen, holding a package and wearing a look of exasperation on her face.  
  
“She’s done it again,” she said, without preamble.  
  
“Who’s done what?” Nick asked absently, fishing a couple of mugs out of a cupboard.  
  
“My aunt. She’s sent us those damn hankies again.”  
  
“Oh. That.” Nick grinned. “She never fails, does she?”  
  
“No. And I’ve already got more of the bloody things than I’ll ever use in a lifetime,” Helen complained.  
  
Nick’s grin turned to a frown as he heard the sharp tone of Helen’s voice. “Why does it bother you so much?” he said. “I happen to think it’s kind of endearing. At least she remembers us.”  
  
Helen rolled her eyes. “It’s annoying. And besides, if we both fell under a bus tomorrow, she’d still keep sending them. She does it automatically. Don’t flatter yourself she’s fond of you or anything.” She stalked out of the kitchen, leaving Nick still frowning as he poured boiling water into the mugs and added milk to the coffee.  
  
Helen was sitting in an armchair pointedly reading the newspaper when Nick entered the living room, mugs in hand. He didn’t get so much as a flicker of response when he set Helen’s coffee down on the table beside her, and he stifled a sigh as he settled on the sofa opposite, and surveyed the Christmas tree in the corner over the rim of his own mug.  
  
It was a bit wonky, and the decorations had a slightly haphazard look to them, which was probably down to Nick’s less than stellar skills when it came to the artistic side of things.  
  
Helen hadn’t bothered to help him with any of the decorations, and as he contemplated the small stack of presents under the tree’s lowest branches, Nick wondered whether that might not be what was bothering her. She’d never really been one to get into the festive spirit, and Christmas in particular she seemed to take as a personal affront, no doubt due to the fact that the university closed down for the holidays and she was therefore unable to get on with her work and research. Of course, that hadn’t stopped her, in years gone by, inveigling her way into the zoology building anyway – those Christmases had been rather lonely ones for Nick.  
  
Not bothering to stifle a second sigh, Nick acknowledged to himself that, while Christmas might not be helping matters, he couldn’t attribute Helen’s bad mood purely to the season. No, she’d been snippy and bad tempered for several months now, and he still wasn’t exactly sure why. He knew they weren’t seeing eye-to-eye on several issues in their professional lives at the moment, but that was nothing new. Exploring and debating each other’s ideas and theories had been one the things that had drawn them together in the first place, and neither of them was the type to take offence when the other expressed a contrary opinion.  
  
And yet, recently that seemed to have been exactly what Helen was doing. Unfortunately, Nick considered some of her latest ideas to be somewhat outlandish, and had even gone so far as to say so. Which might have been a mistake, although he would never expected Helen to take umbrage at it so. Normally doubts only made her work all the harder to prove her theory.  
  
But this time she seemed to be taking Nick’s dubiousness as a personal attack, and had stopped talking about her work to him at all. It was an unfamiliar situation to be in, and so far Nick hadn’t had much luck changing the status quo. Helen wasn’t quite the Helen he had married any more, and he didn’t know what to do to get the old one back.  
  
Sighing again, Nick drained his mug and stood up, collecting the untouched, and now cold, coffee from beside Helen before making his way back to the kitchen. He deposited the mugs by the sink, and then picked up the package that Helen had left on the table. One end of it was already open, and Nick reached inside to extract the contents.  
  
Two bundles of handkerchiefs fell out, and Nick smiled as he undid them, revealing the monograms of H.C. and N.C. in the corners of each hankie. Once upon a time he and Helen had laughed about these gifts, and dutifully added each new delivery to their ever-growing pile in the drawer.  
  
But now even that had changed, and it saddened Nick to see Helen become so dismissive towards her aunt and their family tradition.  
  
Quietly, Nick started placing the handkerchiefs back in their bundles, wrapping them up and putting them to one side ready to be taken upstairs.  
  
All except one. He looked at the embroidered letters for a few moments longer, and then folded up the hankie and slid it in his pocket.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Nick stirred suddenly, his eyelids fluttering open groggily before a frown creased his forehead as he remembered what he’d been dreaming about. Strange, he rarely even thought about Helen these days. She’d been gone for years, so why was he dreaming about her now?  
  
Shaking his head a little, he wondered what had woken him. Had it been the sound of the front door opening? No, there was no noise coming from the hall to indicate that someone had come home. Then he started slightly as he heard a tapping noise at the window, and remembered the bush that grew right up close to the house, and that he’d been meaning to cut back all autumn.  
  
He smiled slightly at his own jumpiness, and looked at the clock. Only half an hour had passed, but that meant that it was now past 11 o’clock, and he was still alone.  
  
His gaze strayed to this year’s Christmas tree, which was still decorated as haphazardly as it had always been, even though this time around he’d had very little hand in its adornment. He looked at it fondly. Who needed an immaculately decorated tree, anyway? This was much better. It was familiar, and it meant something.  
  
Then Nick became aware of a slight dampness in his lap, and looked down to see that his whisky glass had tipped over while he’d been asleep, spilling the dregs over his jeans. Tutting at his own clumsiness, he set the now empty glass on the coffee table, and dragged a hankie out of his pocket to dab at the wet patch.  
  
But something caught his eye, and he realised that the hankie was one of the very ones he’d been dreaming about. He hadn’t realised there were any left – Helen’s aunt had died nearly ten years ago, and he’d been sure he must have gone through his stock by now.  
  
However, it appeared that wasn’t the case, and he smiled again at the memory of the lady who had sent them, and then stuffed the handkerchief back in his pocket unsoiled. His jeans would dry on their own.  
  
He knew he should really go to bed – time was ticking on, and he had no idea how much longer he would have to wait. But he was determined to give it a bit longer, and besides, the sofa was quite comfortable. It wouldn’t do his tired body any harm to rest a little longer.  
  
His eyes slid shut again, and Nick slipped back into his dreams.  
  
* * * * *  
  
 _Ten years ago…_  
  
“Nick, are you still in here?”  
  
Stephen’s voice was slightly muffled by the office door, but loud enough to draw Nick’s attention away from latest comment he was scrawling in red across an essay.  
  
“I’m in here,” he acknowledged, raising his own voice so Stephen could hear him.  
  
The door was pushed open, and Stephen entered the room, standing at the top of the short flight of stairs with his hands on his hips, and looking faintly amused.  
  
“What?” asked Nick. “What is it?”  
  
Stephen rolled his eyes. “Only that you were supposed to meet me at the car twenty minutes ago,” he replied. “It’s gone five o’clock, Cutter – maintenance want to lock up the building for Christmas. Everyone else has gone home for the holidays, and it’s about time we did too.”  
  
Confused, Nick peered at his watch. How had it got so late? Where had the time gone?  
  
Stephen grinned affectionately, and then clattered down the stairs and started gathering up the papers strewn across Nick’s desk, tidying them into neat piles in a matter of moments.  
  
“Come on, Cutter – the first years’ hideous essays will still be waiting for you in the New Year. Who knows, they might even become more intelligible after a Christmas of mulled wine and good cheer.”  
  
Nick snorted. “That’s doubtful.”  
  
Stephen’s grin widened. “Fair point. But at least you’ll be able to face them in a better frame of mind.”  
  
“There is that,” Nick agreed. He allowed a grin to cross his own features. “All right, then. Let’s go.”  
  
“That’s the spirit.” Stephen held out a hand, and hauled Nick up from his chair, pulling him close. “Anyway, if you hadn’t come now, I think Bob might have locked you in here for the whole of the holidays.  
  
Nick’s eyebrows shot up in mock-alarm. Bob was the caretaker for the zoology building, and he and Nick had never quite seen eye to eye on the subjects of health and safety, and reasonable working hours. His grumbles on the fire hazard Nick’s office presented, with its piles of paper and mess everywhere, were well known throughout the department.  
  
“Well, we wouldn’t want to annoy Bob, would we?” Nick said. “He might find a way to ruin my Christmas if I did that.”  
  
“Oh, don’t worry, I’d protect you,” Stephen said lightly.  
  
“My hero.”  
  
“That’s right,” Stephen nodded. Then he leaned forward and gave Nick a quick kiss, pulling away just as Nick caught up with what was happening. “Now, come on, damsel in distress, let’s get out of here before the evil ogre finds us.”  
  
Spluttering with laughter, Nick allowed himself to be led out of the office, Stephen flicking off the lights behind them, and then steering Nick towards the building’s side entrance so they could avoid the wrath of Bob.  
  
As they climbed into the truck, Nick’s foot knocked against a bag sitting in the footwell of the passenger seat, eliciting a clinking sound. “What’s in there?” he asked.  
  
“It’s the mulled wine I promised you,” said Stephen. “I picked it up from the campus shop this afternoon. I owe it to the students to at least try and get you thoroughly mulled yourself – maybe you’ll be nice to them next term, then.”  
  
Nick biffed him on the shoulder. “You think of everything.”  
  
“I try,” replied Stephen modestly, and then smiled at Nick. “Someone’s got to take care of you, after all.”  
  
“And you do a very good job of it,” Nick told him sincerely. Then he grinned. “Although I wouldn’t get me too mulled, if I were you. I’ve got plans for Christmas that rely on me being alert.”  
  
“Oh really?”  
  
“Definitely. So we’d better get going, hadn’t we?”  
  
“Hey, I’m not the one who made us late in the first place!” Stephen protested. But he nonetheless started the truck, and Nick could see his eyes sparkling as he turned his attention to the road.  
  
* * * * *  
  
A cramp in his leg woke him this time, but despite the discomfort Nick smiled a little as the vestiges of his dream lingered in his mind. And if the smile had a slightly melancholy edge to it, well, who would blame him?  
  
While the memory of Helen and her place in his life had faded naturally over time, drifting to the back of his subconscious and becoming lost in the jumble of the past, Stephen he had deliberately put in a box, and tried not to think about.  
  
When Helen had left, and he’d been all alone, Stephen had been there for him, as a helper, and friend, and eventually more. They’d been so happy together, and it was one of the greatest regrets of Nick’s life that he’d let it all slip away. He still took responsibility for Stephen’s death, no matter how many times people had tried to tell him it wasn’t his fault. And while he’d come to terms with that, it didn’t make it any easier to think of Stephen and everything that had happened between them.  
  
So normally he tried not to.  
  
But tonight it seemed that his mind was playing tricks on him, reminding him of things that were best forgotten. And strangely, the memories of Stephen didn’t seem to hurt as much as they once had.  
  
Another twinge in his leg brought Nick’s thoughts back to the present, and he sighed to himself as he realised that it was now past midnight. This was silly. He couldn’t stay on the sofa all night, slipping in and out of dreams of his past. He would go to bed, and hope that by morning he wouldn’t be alone in it any more.  
  
Levering himself upright, he flexed his leg gingerly, waiting until the cramp had subsided to a dull throb before switching off the lights and heading towards the stairs.  
  
As an afterthought he snagged his mobile phone from the pocket of his jacket hanging in the hallway, checking it for any signs of communication. There was indeed a text message - _Shouldn’t be too long now. Don’t wait up._ – but it had been sent over an hour ago, unnoticed by Nick as he dozed, and since the sender still hadn’t appeared in person, he didn’t put much faith in its breezy assurances.  
  
He dithered for a moment, and then sent back a quick reply. _No rush. See you in the morning. Merry Christmas._ A lie, but needy had never been his style.  
  
His bed looked very inviting to this set of tired old bones, and Nick hurried through brushing his teeth and changing into the old jogging bottoms and t-shirt he slept in so he could slide under the covers.  
  
He was very aware of the space next to him where another body should have been, but his tiredness was catching up to him again, and before he could focus on it too much, he was asleep.  
  
* * * * *  
  
 _Five years ago…_  
  
Christmas had become a chore. Something to be struggled through, or better yet, ignored as much as possible until January arrived and people stopped talking about gifts and office parties and mistletoe.  
  
Too much had happened for him to want to be a part of a season where the whole point was to spend time with loved ones. He had lost too much, too many people, to make that possible, and all he really wanted was to bury his head in his work and forget about it until it had all gone away.  
  
Three years since Stephen had died, a little less since Helen had found her own grave in some forgotten corner of prehistory. He had mourned one and, if not welcomed the other, at least felt the justice of it.  
  
But what did that leave him with? Not a whole lot. He’d thought there might have been something with Jenny once, but he hadn’t tried hard enough, and she’d given up on him. They were colleagues, maybe friends, but that was it.  
  
Of course, there were the other people on the project. Lester, Becker, Sarah, Danny. And Abby and Connor, naturally. A good group of people, a good team to have, but during the last few years he’d felt a little disconnected from all of them. He knew that was his own fault, but somehow he couldn’t seem to change it.  
  
There was a soft knock at the door, and Nick called out a welcome without really thinking about it, only turning to greet his visitor when footsteps told him the other person was standing inside his lab.  
  
“Connor, what can I do for you? Shouldn’t you and Abby have gone home by now?”  
  
Connor looked faintly nervous, he thought, although the young man also had a resolute air about him that spoke of summoned up courage. And Nick’s suspicions were proved right when Connor started talking.  
  
“Well, that’s kind of what I wanted to talk to you about, Professor. Me and Abby, and Sarah and Danny – we’re going out for a drink before we head home. Sort of a Christmas celebration, since Lester put the skids on the idea of an ARC Christmas party.” Connor smiled, and Nick couldn’t help smiling back, remembering Lester’s reaction to the suggestion of fairy lights adorning the anomaly detector, and ‘Fairytale of New York’ piped through the loudspeaker system.  
  
“Well, I hope you have a good time, all of you,” he said sincerely, already turning back to his computer.  
  
“”But I’m meant to ask you…that is… do you want to come?”  
  
The question came out in a rush, accompanied by a hopeful, almost eager expression, and Nick was struck by a sudden sense of relief that, while the anomaly project had wrought many changes, it hadn’t changed Connor. He’d grown and matured, but he hadn’t allowed everything that had happened to them over the years, both good and bad, to affect his natural optimism for life, and his determination to help others and see the best in them. The shock of that relief was such that he didn’t speak for a few seconds, and only Connor’s verbal prodding returned his attention to the matter at hand.  
  
“Cutter? What do you think?”  
  
Nick smiled, but shook his head. “Thanks, Connor, but I think I’ll give it a miss. I’ve lots to do here, and besides, I don’t think I’d be very good company.”  
  
“Oh…” Connor looked downcast, but then visibly steeled himself, and Nick knew he was going to have to fend off another attempt.  
  
“Come on, Professor. It’ll be fun. And I have to tell you that if you don’t say yes to me, Abby’s going to come and have a go at convincing you, and you know how scary she can be.”  
  
Connor’s mock-frightened face surprised a chuckle out of Nick, and for a second he actually considered taking Connor up on his offer. Then he shook his head again. “I think I can handle Abby,” he said wryly.  
  
“But I can’t. She’ll never let me hear the end of it if neither of us can convince you to come. My Christmas will be ruined. Please, Professor? Do it for me?”  
  
Nick laughed again at Connor’s impish, imploring grin, and suddenly felt his heart lighten. Oh, what the hell. One night off couldn’t hurt. And there would be plenty of the holidays left to get on with his work.  
  
“Oh, all right then, you’ve convinced me. I’ll come.”  
  
“Really? Brilliant!” Connor’s grin was wider now, joyful in his success. “Come on, then, the others are waiting outside.”  
  
“Give me a chance to shut down my computer and everything, okay? I’ll meet you in the garage in five minutes.”  
  
“Okay.” Connor bounded out of the room, and Nick smiled to himself as he turned off the computer and fetched his coat. Maybe it was time to stop ignoring Christmas.  
  
* * * * *  
  
The sensation of the mattress dipping as someone slipped into bed beside him woke Nick for a third time. He grunted sleepily, and heard a sharp intake of breath in response.  
  
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you,” a voice whispered. “Go back to sleep.”  
  
“What time is it?” Nick mumbled.  
  
“Just gone one. Sorry, I didn’t think I’d be this long.”  
  
“Doesn’t matter. Did you figure out what was wrong with the detectors?”  
  
In the faint light filtering through the curtains, he could see Connor nodding in response.  
  
“We’d managed to get hold of some substandard components from somewhere. Basically, they fried. I suggested to Lester that we might want to consider getting some better suppliers in future.”  
  
“I bet he really appreciated that. Did you fix them, then?”  
  
“Not yet. It can wait until after Christmas.”  
  
“You should have sorted it tonight.”  
  
“It’s fine,” said Connor. “We have the others to tide us over. Besides, I wanted to get home to you.” He slid closer to Nick, curling up beside him, his warm breath ghosting over Nick’s shoulder. “You sounded like you were missing me.”  
  
“What? When?”  
  
“In your text message.”  
  
“But I told you not to rush home. How did you extrapolate I was missing you from that?”  
  
He couldn’t really see Connor, but he could almost sense him smiling in the darkness.  
  
“You forget, I’ve had years to learn to read between your lines. And anyway, I missed _you_.”  
  
“You only saw me a few hours ago,” Nick pointed out.  
  
“Yes, but it’s Christmas. People shouldn’t be alone at Christmas.”  
  
That was all too true, Nick reflected, remembering some Christmases not so long ago where he had been exactly that.  
  
His sudden silence must have alerted Connor to his mood, because his companion shifted slightly, and then an arm wrapped itself around his middle, pulling them even closer together.  
  
“Something the matter?”  
  
“Not really.”  
  
Connor’s sceptical snort spoke volumes, and Nick sighed.  
  
“I was dreaming,” he admitted. “About…the past.”  
  
“Oh?”  
  
“Have I ever said thank you?” Nick asked abruptly, unwilling to divulge the contents of his first two dreams. Some things were better not raked over, after all.  
  
“Thank you for what?” Connor sounded confused.  
  
“For our first Christmas together,” Nick continued quietly. “If you hadn’t come and dragged me out of my lab, I might still be wallowing in my self-pity and cutting myself off.”  
  
Connor snorted again. “I highly doubt that,” he said.  
  
“No, really,” Nick insisted. “I could have missed out on so much if it wasn’t for you that day.”  
  
There was silence from Connor then, although the grip around Nick’s middle tightened a little. Then Connor cleared his throat, obviously making an attempt (although he was failing) to sound nonchalant.  
  
“Well, that was really down to Abby, so you should probably be thanking her instead.”  
  
But his words were at odds with the soft kiss that was pressed to the exposed skin of Nick’s collarbone, and Nick turned his head just enough that he could drop a kiss of his own on to Connor’s forehead.  
  
“Thank you,” he whispered.  
  
“You’re very welcome,” came a return whisper.  
  
The only sound after that was the quiet rasp of slow, steady breathing as two people slipped into a sleep without dreams.


End file.
